


Waiting Around (To Die)

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Crying, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FTM Pregnancy, Family, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Men Crying, Morning Sickness, Multi, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Protective Morality | Patton Sanders, Teen Pregnancy, Trans Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, Whump, discussion of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:10:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Virgil holds the solid belief that found family is better than biological. He clings to it after the discovery that he's going to have a child soon. His very own, in fact. He's thankful his adopted family is there for him.





	1. Chapter 1

Emile lets a soft sigh leave his lips. He can't say he isn't used to this routine, but he could own up to it getting somewhat old after so many years, especially with how common this occurrence had become for the two sibling. He presses the wet cloth to Virgils' cheek, wiping the dried blood away carefully. The other winces, no other indication of how he felt leaving him. This had become common, Virgils' third fight this week, which had been a huge increase compared to the typical once-a-month fight they grown used to before. Emile was always there to patch up his little brother afterward. Now was no exception, though he's tired and somewhat annoyed at the younger. Who the fuck fights someone at two in the morning, after all?

 

He presses a bandage to the pale skin, now stained with blood and in need of a desperate wash that would come _after_ they heal. The white bandages don't clash with the skin, instead, more so blending into it than either could have intended for.

 

Emile can't without the question any longer. He softly asks the sixteen-year-old, "Who did you fight with, now?" He keeps his voice as soft and as caring as he can, but he knows that he had already struck a chord by the way Virgils' eyes dart away and his brows furrow, glaring at the floor. "I won't tell anyone." He presses his glasses up, eyes wide with concern.

 

"I know." He mumbles, almost silent.

 

"We don't have to talk about it."

 

The two sit silently for a moment, Emile studying his little brother with a frown. The other had just started testosterone only a month ago, the exact day of his sixteenth, and yet he had already changed so much, features already sharper than they had been. Now, he can see the other thinking out if he's going to say who or not.

 

After yet another series of moments, he passively remarks, "Damien and Roman, okay?"

 

The younger already knows what the other is going to say before it comes out, but Emile asks anyway. "You had a fight with your boyfriends? Why?" He stands from where he had been kneeling in front of the other, worry playing at his features. "I thought you guys were all on great terms, now? I mean, since you guys are dating and all."

 

"We were."

 

Emile raises a brow. He echoes, _"Were?"_ If they had been, why weren't they still? "What happened, V?"

 

Virgil seems to move without a singular thought genuinely running through his head. Emile had seen that look so many times before, seen the other go onto autopilot after the panic got too high and he far from had the energy to have a panic attack, numb to everything and mind in shambles. It was just as common as the fights now, too. His spot on the toilet seat won't be forgotten, they both know, but it stays unattended as the taller motions for him to follow.

 

It was almost three in the morning. No one should have been up so late, but their fathers would knowingly be in the living room, still up and questioning each other over _something,_ probably grading papers or something of that sort. The two were always up at the most inconvenient times for the teenagers, but the two never minded. It meant that if something was going on, they could be notified within an instant.

 

Virgil softly shuts his door as soon as Emile enters the room. It's a stark contrast to the way he had slammed it after the last fight he had two nights before. Emile stands beside the other, not commenting as he watches his brother intently. The hood falls to the ground, shirt and binder following before a large shirt that was knowingly Damiens' found its way around him. He attempts to ignore the way his brother stutters with it before ripping it off and digging around for a different shirt, deciding one of his own gigantic shirts.

 

After that, Virgil moves to grab at a box beneath his bed, one of the things labeled _"Life Changing"_ after Patton had suggested the idea when he first came to be fostered there. In the box lay more than just a few things. There was his adoption forms or at least a copy of it after Virgil had burned one of many copies _(not the original, thankfully)_ with the line, _"Good luck returning me without the receipt."_ There was an engagement ring (of sorts) that had been presented by Roman, and then one by Damien. Romans' was purple, Damiens' black, both hung around a chain that the other typically wore. There were other assortments of things, but Emile was more than just a little surprised when one of the trinkets was pressed to his hand, the others' face expressionless, all void of emotions.

 

Emiles' eyes widen as he stares at it. It's just a pregnancy test, sure, but it holds a lot of shit to it. A million thoughts run through his head, the _what-ifs_ prodding at his stomach without warning. Virgils' expression hints at worry, at the brewing panic attack and upcoming anxiety that would knowingly befall him soon.

 

"How long?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"How long have you been?..." His voice trails off, falling silent as his eyes dart up to his brother.

 

Virgil sighs softly. "A month, I guess? What's today? I'm bad at dates."

 

Emile whimpers, _"Virgil!"_

 

Virgil huffs, making the other stop in his track instantly as he bellows out, "I _know,_ Emile! I know exactly what I'm doing and just how dumb it is!" He runs a hand through the messy strands of hair, worrying at his own lips as he flops on his bed, box forgotten and still one the floor. "I know just how dangerous this is and how close I am to dying, thank you! I… I'll tell Pops tomorrow. I'll have to go see planned parenthood or whatever and then my hematologist just so I can tell him that I went and did exactly what he told me _not_ to do."

 

"You're keeping the baby?" Emile can't help the raised brow or worry prodding at his body. Their last encounter with any form of estrogen had been disastrous and Virgil had ended up in the hospital with the wary note that he was allergic to estrogen with multiple warnings of blood mutations that were far from in his favor.

 

Virgil glares.

 

"Right, right, sorry." The two had already had this conversation before. "Why don't you tell one of Dads first, then? They're both awake."

 

The albino teenager instantly pales, which is a feat of itself, given just how pale he already was from the interaction already. He leans up, eyes wide with panic. "Emile, I--"

 

The other interrupts, "I'll go with you!" He knows he's pushing the younger, but Virgils' life is on the line. This was so painfully terrifying and they needed to handle it properly. "Pops is grading papers right now! I bet you that he could get you your appointments by the end of the weeks and you _know_ how hard it is to get an appointment with your stupid blood doctor."

 

It was hard. Last time they had an appointment, it had been six weeks after they needed it to be.

 

Virgil straightens with an aspirated sigh. He knows he won't get out of this, but he's silently thankful Emile dragged him into it. He wasn't sure how long he would go without telling his parents about the situation on hand. Probably until he was in the hospital, freaking out because he had a blood clot and his body ached so much. He gives his brother a slow, dull nod.

 

The younger scoops the pregnancy test out of the eighteen-year-olds' hand, standing and popping his back. Emile cringes at the noises, but it's the closest thing to a passive aggressive _fuck you_ that he can get in at the moment, so the older allows it.

 

His fingers' lace with Emiles', nerves buzzing in his mind and stomach. He goes on airplane mode, stomach turning again and again as he walks through the home, footsteps silent. He feels sick as a dog, which feels so similar to morning sickness that Virgil just barely avoids vomiting at the reminder.

 

Logan comes into view all too soon. He runs his hands through his black hair, eyes focused on the papers in front of him. His pale skin contrasts with the dark coffee table, hands moving on instinct. Virgil silently focuses on the light freckles that decorate his knuckles and ignores the business-casual clothing he's always clad in.

 

Patton seems to pad into the room at the exact moment, a smile on his lips and tray in hands. He's much louder than the youngest when he walks, though the bunny slippers don't make much sound as he flits through the home. His skin is much tanner than the mans' husband's own skin, far more similar to the mocha coffee table. His freckles are much darker, too, splotched out on his skin like something that reminds Virgil of Anthony Ramos. Wild curls fall around his head, dirty blonde complimenting his skin just like the cat onesie did. The short adult was far from intimidating but for Virgil, he seemed to be six feet tall and ready to kill within an instant.

 

"Shouldn't you two be in bed," Logan asks after a moment, voice calm. It's not poking nor prodding, just there as a placeholder to fill the void of silence.

 

Patton nods to the two, eyes only then flitting up to look at them. Virgil can already see the worry on the others' face. It makes him sick to his stomach, the shaking he's doing only increasing from there.

 

The shorter tentatively and, "V, what's wrong?"

 

Logans' attention follows, papers suddenly forgotten as Patton puts the stray on the little table and rushes to Virgil, still giving him as much space as he can. His brows knit together, worry clear as he examines the other. It doesn't help that the bandages were already there.

 

Virgil can't help but feel worse. Emile looks _exactly_ like the two adults. They're the perfect combination to make _him._ So many people thought the oldest teenager was their own, thought that he was the perfect fit for the family. The only possible hit at him not being theirs' was the freckles that barely appeared, brown hair, and the big, brown eyes that held so many emotions to them, just like Patton's own blue ones.

 

Virgil didn't fit so well.

 

He remembers being just eleven, doing his best to fit into the family. He would dye his hair black, attempting to look just like his pops, no matter the cost. A weekly dye at the roots, blocking out white strands with a harsh black. He would put a blue contact over the purple eye, begging that it matched with the blue-grey his left eye held. It never did, he knew that, but it was better to have a slight discoloration that the stark difference they always held.

 

Within the five years he had lived with the Sanders family, it had ever-so-slowly been imprinted in his mind that they _chose_ him, flaws and all, albino mess and everything else that came with it. They didn't mind the anxiety or dysphoria, quick to support him as best they could. The family even learned sign language for when his dysphoria got too bad and his own voice was too much of a bother. They got him a therapist, a _professional_ one, one that gave him the resources to get testosterone and a multitude of lines in case things got too bad.

 

It wasn't like his old homes. He wasn't with his parents or aunt. They didn't force him to look like them, didn't scold him for letting his nerves run wild. He didn't have to dye his hair of slap a pound and a half of makeup on each morning to be told that he looked great or to even get acknowledged or fed that morning. Instead, Patton would gently wake him up each morning and present breakfast for the adopted son, giving him five more minutes when he could. Weekends were used for relaxing, for whatever each wanted to do, not cleaning the house and picking up the shattered glass remains so CPS didn't have to visit and present him to a social worker.

 

He presses the pregnancy test forward, whimpering softly as the tears dribble down his reddened cheeks. Emile gives his hand a gentle squeeze as Patton pulls it away, examining the test with furrowed brows. Virgil can't look at either of them, though.

 

He knows the little family. They're all caring, all quick to comfort at any opportunity given. Sure, Logan was a little stunted thanks to a private childhood with parents who didn't exactly _do feelings,_ but he was learning, had learned the basics. The two adults had raised Emile since he was a newborn abandoned on the streets from a drug attic mother that had the child suffer from withdraw at only two hours old. They had raised Virgil after he had newly turned eleven, just beginning with fostering before fully adopting him, completely aware of what they were doing. He was only sixteen years and one month old, now, and he had to present to his family the aspects of a new family member despite the risks.

 

He can't look at them for the anxiety that chews on his intestines like an angry snake progressively eating itself. He stares at his feet, at his toes that Emile had painted black and purple after his previous fight, at a flake of dust on the ground that we would forget about in two minutes, tops. Tears plop on the ground, salty and bitter, painted grey with eyeliner. He can't help the shaking he feels deep in his core like anxiety had wrapped its yucky tendrils around his ribs and sternum, angry and cold. Overstimulation from his nerves only aided in the crying.

 

"Virgil, Dear, it's okay." Virgil doesn't look up at Pattons' words. They feel sickly like this, painful. "Baby, look at me, please?"

 

His voice doesn't demand it, just pleads, asking. And Virgil is silently thankful for that. The tone hurts, though. He's heard it before. It always makes his attention jerk towards the source, even if he doesn't want to do so. Soulful eyes look back at his, full of love despite the situation. It's not the cold look Virgils' anxiety constantly braced him for.

 

The adult smiles. "It's alright, Virgil. We can figure this out. You don't have to do this alone, Buddy."

 

Patton opens his arms. He invites the other in for a hug. It's an invitation. Virgil can turn him down, he _knows_ he can, but everything was too much and Emiles' hand wrapped in his own can only anchor his so much before the dam spilled and ripped the anchor beneath him with a harsh jerk. He holds onto Patton like he's a life raft just barely keeping him afloat, sobbing into the mans' shoulder as he shakes. Right now, the family hug is the only lifeline he has. He silently depends on it more than he ever has before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work but I'm too tired to care
> 
> Virgil goes to see his gynecologist and also has a light fight with his dads.

Tension in the car seemed so thick that Virgil silently concludes that he can cut it with a damn knife at this point. He can feel the waves of nerves his fathers are both putting off, attempting to ignore the problem at hand. Despite that, Virgil can still see how white Logans' knuckles are from where he presses his cheek against the cold window. The adults are both tired. They're _all_ tired, but Virgil knows Patton won't start anything if Virgil doesn't speak up. With his tired mind, he can't find it in himself to filter through what is and isn't okay to say.

 

The radio is just barely heard over the own static looping through Virgils' ears. It had been so numbingly annoying to feel the same thing over and over again, feeling the waves of dread crash against his body, progressively making their moves to drown him. Every single second was a tick down to his internal damnation for his own dumbass actions and he could see the end ticking closer and closer, the hands on the clock seemingly slowing at his expense. Maybe that was just the dire need to force him into cherishing what time he may or may not have left?

 

The teenager can feel his mind spiraling. It was worse than when Emile told him he was moving out with Remy the instant they graduated this year. That was so fucking _close,_ though, only a month and a half left of school. He had cried, panicked. He had run to Roman and Damien, keeping the breakdown away from the two and instead focused on the positives they had. There weren't many, but Virgil kept that information to himself.

 

It was far too early for this. They shouldn't have left at five in the fucking morning to go to a fucking doctor, but the only LGBT friendly planned parenthood/gynecologist sort of place was out of state and took far too fucking long to drive to. Emile would be with Remy until the end of the day, or until the three got back to the home. That was probably going to be late at night, though, and they all knew how bad his nerves got when he was alone. Remy didn't have to hear out the full story for him to supply that he would stick around without hesitation.

 

Virgil knows he's a stupid fucking teenager, after all, doing the current most dangerous thing that he possibly can. He was so fucking _stupid_ and he can't stop from screaming it at himself, so internally pissed at himself that he probably would have been the pulp out of himself if given the chance to do so.

 

He can't stop himself from taking up a conversation with the two. He's so fucking _angry_ at himself. Virgil knows, realistically, he shouldn't do this, should aim how pissed off he is at his parents, but he doesn't exactly have anything in front of him to vent his frustrations, given that he currently has his boyfriends blocked after their fight.

 

He grits his teeth. "Are you gonna say anything?"

 

Patton tenses at the suddenly disturbed peace, but he turns toward his son, all the same. His eyes widen with curiosity as he asks, "What?"

 

Virgil glares at the older man. It's not like Patton is three times Virgils' age, but he's old enough that Virgil thinks he has a right to call him old enough. It's not the worst title he could give him, after all. "I know you both have a stand on this. It's not like you _don't."_ His hands move with his words, a habit he had yet to break. "I can practically see you buzzing in your seat right now. Whatever you have to say, say it now so we don't have a fight in front of Doctor Arla like we did last time!"

 

Patton tenses up more as he thinks out the word. He had an opinion on it, one that's bursting at its seems to be shared, but the adult stops himself with a muffled _mmm,_ lips pursed. He tentatively scans over the child's' face, worry playing on his features like it always did.

 

"Don't look at me like that!"

 

"Like what," Patton asks after the yell, his brows only pressing together more.

 

"Like I'm some stupid pity project you decided to take on! I don't want to be your project!"

 

Patton tenses, another hun leaving him as he sighs. He's slow to reply, "Virgil, it's none of my business."

 

Virgil can feel flames igniting in his stomach. "What do you _mean,_ it's not your business?" His stomach angrily churns and he gives it half a thought, considering half-heartedly _what if it's morning sickness?_ He pushes that thought aside in order to fuel the fire still raging inside of him. "You're my fucking _father!_ It should be your business!"

 

Patton heaves out a sigh, one that hints he's running out of patience with the bitter teenager currently getting steamed up at the topic. He can't say he blames Virgil, though, because he thinks he would be just as pissed if someone had given the same response to something so crucial and life-changing for the teenager.

 

"Virgil, that's not what I--"

 

"You're supposed to be worried," he yelps, voice cracking beneath him, seemingly out of control. Honestly, Patton can't name a time where he had seen Virgil cry out of anger before. "O-o-or doting? Or maybe you're supposed to be yelling? I don't _know!_ This is one of the worst situations possible and you're handling it like it _isn't_ something that's super deadly!" His anger seems to cancel out his sensibility. "I don't know what you're supposed to fucking be like, but _this--"_ he wildly motions around them, "--isn't fucking _it!"_

 

Logans' silence seems to break as he sharply turns his head towards the teenager before returning to look at the road. "This is horrible, Virgil, we understand that, but you need to think about our perspective on this, too! We were just told by our child that they've been avoiding telling us about something that is life-threatening to them for an entire _month_ at least the closest thing compared to this almost killed them the _first time around!"_ His knuckles grip tighter at the wheel, anger growing on the man who always seemed to be so rational.

 

 _"Lo…"_ Patton whispers, brows knit together with worry for both of them.

 

"You are a miracle to even be _breathing_ at this very moment and we all know this! You were fighting estrogen with testosterone for the entire month. This could have killed you so easily already. Did you not consider that it was just _fourteen days_ of the lowest level estrogen you could be given that just _barely_ raised your estrogen over your testosterone levels and it still almost killed you!"

 

Virgil looks green at the words.

 

"You are toying with fate at this very moment. Yes, we will accept whatever you choose to do without hesitation, but this is not alright in the least. We support you already and we're here for you no matter what. We have to be rational about this or else the impending worry will get to us and we all know it. It'll happen the same way you've dreaded for so long and none of us can have anything like that happen. I love you so much, Virgil. You are _my son._ If you die due to something we could have prevented…"

 

Virgil pauses, his anger simmering away. Tear tread down his cheeks, though he wipes the tears away with a harsh swipe before anything can fall. Neither comment on the tears or the inevitable sniffle that follows. He glares out the window, moving to relax. They know he's still as upset as a viper who just had their best disturbed, but at least he was calming down somewhat now.

 

Patton pauses as he sees the other suddenly blanch, though, his face flushing green. "Stop the car, Logan, pull over!"

 

Virgil just barely makes it out of the car before he heaves, vomiting what little he had held down as long as he had. He cringes at himself, choking down sobs as he vomits in the grass, morning dew now decorating his hands and knees.

 

-

 

The entire room had stayed silent while awaiting Doctor Arla. The woman had seen Virgil before. She had been his personal gynecologist for so long, after all. She knew the family well enough. Virgils' stomach aches so horribly. He wasn't sure if it was because of how harshly he had vomited earlier, of it was because of his nerves eating him alive, or really _what_ it possibly could have been. There were so many variables to everything that he just tries to ignore it the best he can.

 

Doctor Arla smiles as she opens the door to the room, peering at the three sitting in collective silence. She crosses the room to flop down on the rolly chair, already well enough acquainted with them. It doesn't stop her from rolling over and offering a hand out to him. "Virgil Sanders." He shakes her hand, lips teasing a smirk. "It's good to see you again. I hope it's not under such deadly circumstances and instead a check-up of some kind."

 

Virgil tenses up at the words. Her eyes scan over him, worry prying its way into her system. He's much paler than she'd last seen him, eyes sunken and the eye and darker than she last remembered. They're only more so accented with the white gown she knows every patient here has to wear. She hates them just as much as he does, but she denies owning up to it. Instead, she raises a questioning brow at the teenager currently tensing up.

 

His grimace doesn't go unnoticed, either, not the way his eyes focus away from anyone's face. "Well, I'm a teenager… A very dumb one that didn't exactly what you told them not to do."

 

She lets out a passive scoff. "Dear, I told you not to do a _lot_ of things. You'll have to be a bit more specific about what you've done." The woman gives him a thoughtful expression nonetheless, pushing away her worry as much as she can in order to care for him. He was at risk simply _existing,_ so whatever he had done must have been more than just _teenage rebellion._

 

His eyes dart away and she feels her stomach swell with worry. He looks sick, like the words themselves bring him to tears. She's seen this look from her own child, seen it on their face as anxiety stewed in their body. She can feel the emotions radiating off of him without even attempting to do so.

 

She isn't surprised when she gets a timid, almost silent answer. He mumbles, "I'm pregnant."

 

She knows what saying it means. Saying it means that it's _real,_ that it's no longer just a lingering thought or some offhanded idea. It means that he is _actually_ holding a being in his womb, the fetus progressively growing over time.

 

The information is somewhat slow for her to process, despite already knowing what she had dreaded to hear. This meant a lot more stress on the teenager. She isn't sure how he'll respond, how his anxiety will handle being told that his entire diet has to be changed, that the years of progress with his dysphoria he made will be torn away with a decision. Her hands move to scribble down the reason why he was there without thinking, filling the box with dark ink. _Pregnancy._

 

She purses her lips and gives a gentle hum, nodding her head. "I will admit, that _is_ what I told you _exactly_ not to do." She scribbles down a few more things on the form. "Would you like to hear out your options, or have you already thought it out and decided what you'll do like you've done every time before this?" Her comment doesn't come out bitter, now angry like it could have been. It's instead calm, a genuine question. Every time beforehand, she had found that he already had the answers, had his thoughts in order and chosen his path before even being asked. She worried for him more than she wanted to dare let on, but, as a doctor who accepted children as patients, she knew it would come to that eventually. It always did, after all.

 

He tenses up more. Arla wasn't even sure that was possible but there she was, watching him with a keen eye. Apparently, it's not keen enough, though, because she only _just_ notices the bandages taped to his face. He finally turns to look up at her to give her a confident answer that doesn't reek of uncertainty and faux confidence. He confides, "I think I'm going to keep them."

 

Everyone seems to straighten up at hearing that. Even she tenses up as she hears that. She can't help but raise a brown brow when he says it, clear that he's not going to go back on what he said. She knew that as soon as his mind was made up he was stubborn as a mule. She readjusts herself on her rolling stool, attempting to keep herself made up at hearing that. _He's at such a risk,_ she absently thinks, the voice in her head trailing off before her physical voice cuts in.

 

"Are you sure, Hon? This is going to be a lot on you, especially at just sixteen, health risks aside."

 

He sighs softly, giving a slow nod at her. He clearly _doesn't_ have his mind completely made up, faltering before gathering himself together to reply. "I… I'm aware that saying I'll do this will be a giant risk. I'm aware that I'm not only a huge health risk, but also incredibly susceptible a miscarriage as well. But… I don't think I could live with myself if I did…" He hesitates, the pause getting drawn out before he mumbles, _"That."_

 

She can only nod in reply. It is far from her decision, after all, but she can at least help. "You'll need an appointment with your hematologist to get clearance having a child will be alright before I can guarantee anything. Every other week, you _will_ have to come in for a check-up, no exceptions to this for any reason. We can't monitor you entirely, so this is the best we can do for now. Once you start getting closer to your due date, visits will become a weekly thing, to maybe more than that, depending on what's going on."

 

Virgil nods along, silently waiting for her I finish what she's saying. He looks as pale as a sheet of paper color gone from his skin.

 

"The blood thinners are, _obviously,_ a must, though I'm sure you'll be on the ones that must be injected instead. There is also a diet that you'll have to get accommodated to rather quickly."

 

"I'm already on the diet." He passively mumbles, looking down at where his feet are crossed. Both of his fathers glance at him with wide, worried eyes, started about the bit of dedication he had already put into this situation.

 

She nods. "Blood checks will most likely become a weekly thing once again, as well as blood work once a month, just in case."

 

Two hours later, Virgil lays in the back seat of the car, coiled in a ball with his head on Pattons' lap, crying through the tears that burn his eyes like fire. He's not sure what makes him so upset, but he knows that he's tired and he hadn't felt this shitty in a _long_ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if there are any warnings to add! Any at all! I don't want this mistagged and upsetting anyone!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I'm lowkey venting because I've got so much health shit wrong with me that had resulted in me not being able to have a child which is what I was raised to be known as the only thing I could possibly be good at. I'm not pregnant, no, because I would actually kill me, so, go off I guess. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> To be clear, Virgil had polycystic ovaries, which essentially can make testosterone levels higher than estrogen levels, but also makes the risk of miscarriage/odd pregnancies and missed periods (or not having any at all, in my case) especially high. His ovaries have cysts growing around them and are enlarged, which often happens with this. Without periods/shedding the lining, it can build up to cancer within a few years because the lining is literally rotting inside of the body. 
> 
> There are a lot of blood clot mutations that mess with pregnancies and such, but people can go their entire life without ever realizing they have it. 
> 
> An allergy to estrogen (the body just being unable to process it) is something that's hard to get information on, as it is incredibly uncommon. For me, it came in the form of multiple blood clots in my lungs and a week in the hospital (as well as things that I'm still dealing with despite it having happened 6, almost 7 months ago). 
> 
> Healthy pregnancies with these factors are near impossible. Now, I'm a trans guy, yes, but after years of it being ingrained into my head that I'm only good for having kids, it's really fucking hard not to think about the fact that the one thing that I'm supposed to be good at will probably kill me. 
> 
> There's a lot more to the health shit here that's fucked-up about me that I'm imprinting on Virgil (such as the fact that I have one solution to keep from getting cancer outside of getting my uterus removed), but I'll get to that once I get deeper into the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments, I love any and all! Constructive criticism is Hella welcomed, too!! (But only constructive....) 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Please join my Discord server!  
> https://discord.gg/eGkwayy
> 
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> 
> Come and talk to me, too!!
> 
> Tumblr: GalehkXigisi or Transheman (May not respond, Tumblr is a buggy bitch)
> 
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> 
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> 
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